


But Needs Must

by supermatique



Series: Needs Must [1]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermatique/pseuds/supermatique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after the girl dies, Franky calls Erica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Needs Must

The day after the girl dies, Franky calls Erica.

She had cried herself into a fitful sleep the night before, short lengths of dozing broken by nightmares that she herself was carrying the heroin and when the bags burst, they poured through every orifice until she found herself encased in a coffin of fine white powder. She jolted awake each time convinced she was a mummy, frantically thrashing in her bed until she was satisfied that she was still alive. 

But alive like this - it’s a little sad what her life is now. Franky’s not sure it’s a better piece, but she has to take it. 

The operator patches her through, sounding bored as she says, “Through now,” and Franky taps her finger on the cradle impatiently. 

It rings and rings and rings, and the wait is interminable. 

Finally, there is a click, then: “Erica Davidson.”

“Hi.” The greeting sticks in her throat, and Franky clears it. Her heart is wild, she can feel it beating in her fingertips. She repeats herself. “It’s Franky Doyle.”

There is a very long silence on the other end of the line, and Franky thinks _fucking come on, I’m gonna get shoved off soon_ , and then Erica must realise that this off-list call is costing Franky an extra amount that doesn’t come easy, because she says, “Hello.” 

“I’m so glad you didn’t hang up,” is what falls out of Franky’s mouth like apples tumbling from a toppled basket, and she wants to step on her own foot because _really what idiot_ but then Erica laughs on the other end, a small laugh that sounds like it just escaped from a prison of self-control, and it’s not so bad.

“Well.” Franky tries to imagine where she is now, what she’s doing, wearing, what the view is like overlooking the office whose number Franky meticulously narrowed down in a phone book and told herself to forget. “How are you?”

At those words, the dream rushes back, and Franky thinks of the girl seizing on the floor, dying a terrible death, and her heart clenches because despite how hard she tries, she has a heart, and it insists on bleeding and feeling and choking her at the worst of times. She swallows the sob that rises up and almost depresses the hookswitch by accident, her free hand is clenching the cradle so hard.

“Yeah, all right,” she’s proud to manage. “New governor’s a freak, though.” 

That reluctant huff of a laugh again. Franky grips the receiver tighter and closes her eyes briefly, only just briefly, and commits it to memory. “Are you still studying?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ferguson’s scrapped the tutor program, and with all that top dog business plus Red out of the slot, it’s a bitch trying to get any stuff done now, but Franky’s grades haven’t fallen. She’s proud of that. “I’m still doing it.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” 

Franky leans her head against the kiosk, listening to Erica breathing on the other end. There's so much she wants to say, so much she feels she should say, but no words to say it with. She'd bled her words dry on paper that never went anywhere.

“I wrote you letters," is what comes out next.

After another long pause that is seriously killing Franky because Erica of all people should know that words need to be said very quickly here, Erica says, “Did you?" Her voice is quiet and gentle, and Franky feels like a bird without a wing.

She swallows. "Yeah. Channing never sent them."

"Of course."

Silence again. Franky guesses they never were much for words that didn't have some kind of agenda. 

The three short beeps that signal the call timing out sound harshly on both ends of the line. “Guess that’s your cue.”

Franky inhales, and lets her breath out slowly. Her heart really just needs to hang on for a second. “You should visit sometime. It’s lonely at the top.”

“That’s not the best idea,” Erica says, but Franky hears a smile. 

“And what we did in your office was?”

“Goodbye, Franky.”

The call times out. Franky lingers before hanging up, stares at the kiosk until Miles says, “Move it along, Doyle,” and so she does, because she doesn’t feel like being top dog today. 

But needs must.

**Author's Note:**

> Brief foray back into Wentworth fic. Hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> For the mechanics of the phone call, I used a combination of Victoria and Queensland prison regulations. My creative license canon is as follows: prisoners must have a pre-approved list of callers to call out from, which they can dial themselves and are connected automatically. Then they have a personal account to buy permitted items, of which a small amount can be diverted to a personal call account. These calls are screened through the operator. All calls are limited to 12 minutes long and are recorded.


End file.
